act ii; complexities within simplicities
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Uchiha Itachi & Haruno Sakura
Prompt: 021. underneath & 392. beautiful disaster & food: o2. ice-cream
Word Count: 1300
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Notes: Second of a mini-series. Prequel to this is here. 2/10 complete! Written for 50scenes & 500themes & mission_insane . Prompt tables are here & here & here.
-
“Will you take me to Honoka-san’s ice-cream shop?”
Itachi looks up in surprise, whether at the content of her speech, or simply at hearing her voice, he doesn’t know. When his charcoal orbs focus on her forlorn form, sitting delicately across the kitchen table, another shockwave throws itself through his system. Even as she repeats her uncharacteristic question, she is not looking at him - instead, her usually vivacious emeralds are trained on a distant something away from him, outside the window, a vacant, almost sorry glint within them.
He arches an eyebrow, but obliges with an answer nonetheless. “The snowstorm of the century is wrecking havoc outside. I doubt Honoha-san’s store will be open.”
“Is that so?” she replies in the same absentminded tone. She blinks, and seems to see the truth behind his words for the first time, despite having been staring out the kitchen’s large, ornate windows for the past ten minutes. A wistful sigh escapes her parted lips at the realization and with the action, she moves to tuck a wayward cerise strand back behind her ear, but says nothing more.
Itachi wonders briefly where her teammates are - they are notorious within Konoha for sheltering their female companion with the care and dedication required of a porcelain doll. But she is alone, sitting in the Uchiha’s vast kitchen, staring blankly ahead as well as any depressed person. The most microscopic of frowns fights its way onto Itachi’s face - Haruno Sakura is more or less known as the Sweetheart, Konoha’s happy, cheerful Sweetheart. He realizes with annoyance that it unsettles him, for a constant in his world to become a variable.
Sakura seems to have surrendered to the fruitlessness of her desire with his reply and Itachi, unsettled further by her atypical submission, sweeps up in one smooth motion. She doesn’t seem to notice his movement until he his half-way across the room, and his voice once again penetrates her reverie.
“...My mother has made ice-cream. You are welcome to have some, if it’s an adequate substitute.”
She seems surprised at his offer, and it takes another moment for the perplexed look to vanish from her face, but when it does, the glowing smile she is so famous for is back, a beacon on her face. “Of course, Itachi-san. Thank you.”
Itachi nods almost absentmindedly as he retrieves said object from the fridge. The entire sequence of actions is completed with such silence that she nearly reels back with shock when he materializes before her, a glass bowl of vanilla ice cream in hand. A soft smile, duller than before but with the same sort of sad radiance lights her face as she thanks him. As an afterthought, she realizes the extent of his abilities knows nearly no bounds - she barely noticed his motions, stealthy as they were.
It is not important though, she decides in that moment, how good of a shinobi he is. The decency of his person, the vision wrapped beneath the layers of trained Uchiha hardship, the very inner-light she had always pegged to be just as cold as his piercing glare, is the only thing that truly matters. She has no clue what she had been looking for with that ill-placed question. But whatever it had been, she had found it. Uchiha Itachi was a decent, almost caring human being after all. And perhaps it was this epiphany that prompted her to say what she said next, but again, at a later day when she had the time to rethink her actions, she could think of no plausible reason for her to do anything so entirely bizarre.
“My parents are dead,” she says, almost nonchalantly. Here, she pauses for a moment, and a spoonful of vanilla sails into her mouth. After she swallows the delightful gulp, she continues in the same nonchalant tone. “I killed them.”
Itachi, upon hearing her bizarre combination of words, freezes so completely a shudder wracks his usually composed body. What the hell? To Sakura untrained eye though, there is no change in his countenance, and the only indication is the sudden thickness of the air that wraps around them. She plays with her ice-cream with a sort of deliberateness that he cannot describe. When she looks up again, he is nearly stupefied at the turbulence of emotions in her emeralds.
And then she laughs, a hollow, surprising jingle. “My mother died of some complications when she was pregnant with me. When it came down to it, it was either giving birth to me or dying,” here, she pauses again to feed herself. Itachi feels a frown forming on his face at the goosebumps on her arm. When she continues, her voice is dry, void of any humour. “Guess what she chose?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what to answer, even if he wanted to. “My father hated me for it. He loved her a lot, you know? Hated me until the day he died,” she finishes, bitterness now replacing her dry humour, almost sarcastic. “He committed suicide.”
Itachi can do no more than stare at her in complete surprise. This is not Haruno Sakura - cheery, loved, sometimes ill-tempered sweetheart. This is someone who has been shattered repeatedly, someone who has never been given a break, never been given the chance to heal. This is a broken girl, not-
The thought dies in his mind as a sudden bright, cheery smile spreads across her face. In that moment, all traces of her sorrow and remorse seem to dissipate into nothing, as she beams at him. “Oh, what am I saying? I’ve gone all morbid on you. I’m so sorry, Itachi-san!” she offers a little laugh here, nothing like the hollow croak of before. This time, it chimes and sings, a thousand melodies on its own. “Mikoto-san’s ice-cream was delicious! I wish had this sort of talent!”
Sakura offers him no chance to reply as she jumps up, trekking silently towards the sink. The soft melody she hums is another surprise to him - it is a lullaby he heard many a night as a child and against his will, he relaxes in her presence. His mind is working overdrive to digest what has just occurred, but he realizes as he watches her, that some things are not so easily explained. People are complicated, his father once said to him as a child. Perhaps she is the very definition of this adage - he doesn’t know, but there is time in the future to ponder that. For now, he enjoys simply watching her wash the dishes in contentment, her earlier distress seemingly forgotten.
“Oh!” she gasps suddenly. Her fingers, still bubbling from the dish soap, reach out towards the little vase sitting on the sill. “These are absolutely beautiful!” she coos, gesturing towards the dainty read daisies sitting in their place.
“You are welcome to have them,” Itachi replies quietly.
Another smile, genuine this time he thinks, lights up her face. “Really? Thanks. You’ve been so generous with me.”
He nods a little at this. “It is nothing. Our flowers are replaced daily.”
Sakura is positively beaming as she rinses her hands and reaches to grab the bunch. She gasps again then, a different sort of inhale - surprise coats this one as she swivels around, nearly losing her balance in the midst. “Shit. I’m late,” she curses under her breath. “Sorry, Itachi-san! I have to go. Ino-pig will murder me if I’m late again.”
In her rush, she leaves him no room to reply. With another hurried thanks and wave of goodbye, she is gone, flowers grasped loosely in her grip. As she hurries away, Itachi wonders transiently if she realizes how well the flower suits her - or even more appropriate, as he remembers its significance, how well she suits it.
-
red daisy - beauty unknown to possessor
Characters: Uchiha Itachi & Haruno Sakura
Prompt: 021. underneath & 392. beautiful disaster & food: o2. ice-cream
Word Count: 1300
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Notes: Second of a mini-series. Prequel to this is here. 2/10 complete! Written for 50scenes & 500themes & mission_insane . Prompt tables are here & here & here.
-
“Will you take me to Honoka-san’s ice-cream shop?”
Itachi looks up in surprise, whether at the content of her speech, or simply at hearing her voice, he doesn’t know. When his charcoal orbs focus on her forlorn form, sitting delicately across the kitchen table, another shockwave throws itself through his system. Even as she repeats her uncharacteristic question, she is not looking at him - instead, her usually vivacious emeralds are trained on a distant something away from him, outside the window, a vacant, almost sorry glint within them.
He arches an eyebrow, but obliges with an answer nonetheless. “The snowstorm of the century is wrecking havoc outside. I doubt Honoha-san’s store will be open.”
“Is that so?” she replies in the same absentminded tone. She blinks, and seems to see the truth behind his words for the first time, despite having been staring out the kitchen’s large, ornate windows for the past ten minutes. A wistful sigh escapes her parted lips at the realization and with the action, she moves to tuck a wayward cerise strand back behind her ear, but says nothing more.
Itachi wonders briefly where her teammates are - they are notorious within Konoha for sheltering their female companion with the care and dedication required of a porcelain doll. But she is alone, sitting in the Uchiha’s vast kitchen, staring blankly ahead as well as any depressed person. The most microscopic of frowns fights its way onto Itachi’s face - Haruno Sakura is more or less known as the Sweetheart, Konoha’s happy, cheerful Sweetheart. He realizes with annoyance that it unsettles him, for a constant in his world to become a variable.
Sakura seems to have surrendered to the fruitlessness of her desire with his reply and Itachi, unsettled further by her atypical submission, sweeps up in one smooth motion. She doesn’t seem to notice his movement until he his half-way across the room, and his voice once again penetrates her reverie.
“...My mother has made ice-cream. You are welcome to have some, if it’s an adequate substitute.”
She seems surprised at his offer, and it takes another moment for the perplexed look to vanish from her face, but when it does, the glowing smile she is so famous for is back, a beacon on her face. “Of course, Itachi-san. Thank you.”
Itachi nods almost absentmindedly as he retrieves said object from the fridge. The entire sequence of actions is completed with such silence that she nearly reels back with shock when he materializes before her, a glass bowl of vanilla ice cream in hand. A soft smile, duller than before but with the same sort of sad radiance lights her face as she thanks him. As an afterthought, she realizes the extent of his abilities knows nearly no bounds - she barely noticed his motions, stealthy as they were.
It is not important though, she decides in that moment, how good of a shinobi he is. The decency of his person, the vision wrapped beneath the layers of trained Uchiha hardship, the very inner-light she had always pegged to be just as cold as his piercing glare, is the only thing that truly matters. She has no clue what she had been looking for with that ill-placed question. But whatever it had been, she had found it. Uchiha Itachi was a decent, almost caring human being after all. And perhaps it was this epiphany that prompted her to say what she said next, but again, at a later day when she had the time to rethink her actions, she could think of no plausible reason for her to do anything so entirely bizarre.
“My parents are dead,” she says, almost nonchalantly. Here, she pauses for a moment, and a spoonful of vanilla sails into her mouth. After she swallows the delightful gulp, she continues in the same nonchalant tone. “I killed them.”
Itachi, upon hearing her bizarre combination of words, freezes so completely a shudder wracks his usually composed body. What the hell? To Sakura untrained eye though, there is no change in his countenance, and the only indication is the sudden thickness of the air that wraps around them. She plays with her ice-cream with a sort of deliberateness that he cannot describe. When she looks up again, he is nearly stupefied at the turbulence of emotions in her emeralds.
And then she laughs, a hollow, surprising jingle. “My mother died of some complications when she was pregnant with me. When it came down to it, it was either giving birth to me or dying,” here, she pauses again to feed herself. Itachi feels a frown forming on his face at the goosebumps on her arm. When she continues, her voice is dry, void of any humour. “Guess what she chose?”
He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what to answer, even if he wanted to. “My father hated me for it. He loved her a lot, you know? Hated me until the day he died,” she finishes, bitterness now replacing her dry humour, almost sarcastic. “He committed suicide.”
Itachi can do no more than stare at her in complete surprise. This is not Haruno Sakura - cheery, loved, sometimes ill-tempered sweetheart. This is someone who has been shattered repeatedly, someone who has never been given a break, never been given the chance to heal. This is a broken girl, not-
The thought dies in his mind as a sudden bright, cheery smile spreads across her face. In that moment, all traces of her sorrow and remorse seem to dissipate into nothing, as she beams at him. “Oh, what am I saying? I’ve gone all morbid on you. I’m so sorry, Itachi-san!” she offers a little laugh here, nothing like the hollow croak of before. This time, it chimes and sings, a thousand melodies on its own. “Mikoto-san’s ice-cream was delicious! I wish had this sort of talent!”
Sakura offers him no chance to reply as she jumps up, trekking silently towards the sink. The soft melody she hums is another surprise to him - it is a lullaby he heard many a night as a child and against his will, he relaxes in her presence. His mind is working overdrive to digest what has just occurred, but he realizes as he watches her, that some things are not so easily explained. People are complicated, his father once said to him as a child. Perhaps she is the very definition of this adage - he doesn’t know, but there is time in the future to ponder that. For now, he enjoys simply watching her wash the dishes in contentment, her earlier distress seemingly forgotten.
“Oh!” she gasps suddenly. Her fingers, still bubbling from the dish soap, reach out towards the little vase sitting on the sill. “These are absolutely beautiful!” she coos, gesturing towards the dainty read daisies sitting in their place.
“You are welcome to have them,” Itachi replies quietly.
Another smile, genuine this time he thinks, lights up her face. “Really? Thanks. You’ve been so generous with me.”
He nods a little at this. “It is nothing. Our flowers are replaced daily.”
Sakura is positively beaming as she rinses her hands and reaches to grab the bunch. She gasps again then, a different sort of inhale - surprise coats this one as she swivels around, nearly losing her balance in the midst. “Shit. I’m late,” she curses under her breath. “Sorry, Itachi-san! I have to go. Ino-pig will murder me if I’m late again.”
In her rush, she leaves him no room to reply. With another hurried thanks and wave of goodbye, she is gone, flowers grasped loosely in her grip. As she hurries away, Itachi wonders transiently if she realizes how well the flower suits her - or even more appropriate, as he remembers its significance, how well she suits it.
-
red daisy - beauty unknown to possessor